


A Step

by gaialux



Category: Lethal Weapon (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-30
Updated: 2012-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-19 22:52:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/578497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaialux/pseuds/gaialux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victoria Riggs was gone, and Martin Riggs was left behind. Did he really even want to be here?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Step

**Author's Note:**

> Set pre-series.
> 
> Lethal Weapon does not belong to me. This piece of fiction was written for entertainment purposes only, no profit is gained.

It was stupid. So damn stupid. Riggs found himself on the couch, numb, without any desire to move. Only, that was a lie. He did want to move; his mind was screaming at him to Get up! Get up! Do something worthwhile you asshole! But regardless of those emotions, he remained motionless.

Should he get up and grab a beer? That would be good, but he didn't have the strength to move. The mind was one thing, but getting the thoughts into the brain and down to his limbs was an entirely different ballgame. You call yourself a cop? You can't even figure yourself out! GET THE FUCK UP!

How long had he been here? An hour? Three weeks? He didn't know anymore. Victoria's funeral had been what, a Wednesday? And today was…was today Sunday? Or was it Tuesday? It didn't matter, not anymore. As long as he sat here nothing bad could happen to him Or you could do nothing bad to yourself, you worthless shit.

He had told himself last (?) Wednesday that he would start looking for a new place to live. He couldn't go on living here any longer, every single movement hurt because there was something reminding him of Vicky there. If he sat on this seat, staring at a blank wall, it was okay. Vicky didn't do anything to this wall. It wasn't as bad as the television he sat at to begin with…She wasn't even a big television watcher, but the few minutes of Stooges he had pressured her to watch still counted; they were still memories. Wow, aren't you weak? But he had yet to start looking for new accommodations, too much effort.

It didn't matter anymore how weak or strong he was…How here or there... How sane or insane…How capable or incapable. What was left? Eleven years was such a long time in life, and now…now what was left from eleven years? The job? He was close to laughing out loud at that thought. The damn, fucking job; that was what was left. Well, he didn't think he would be going back to that anytime soon. Everybody thought he was going for the fucking psycho pension, and if they didn't believe that load of bull, they thought he'd blow his head off right before their eyes (Maybe not as much bull…?).

Victoria Lynne…Was gone. Dead. Far away. Never coming back. It was time to face reality, or else go crazy (too late?) from delusions of scenarios otherwise. It was that thought that got Riggs off his ass and headed towards the kitchen. He walked in a daze, not noticing their wedding photograph in the hall, the paintings that Vicky considered 'artwork' (personally he thought they looked like blobs of paint) or the curtains she had chosen out while he wandered aimlessly through the aisles, waiting for her to hurry up. He reached the fridge and blocked out the three photos Vicky had put there of them at various times of their life, and he grabbed a beer.

Maybe he wasn't a step forward, but it was a step.


End file.
